Darcy and Bingley Get the Munchies
by Lyphesis
Summary: The title doesn't make any sense, I admit, when this is merely a slashy and very odd version of Pride & Prejudice. Rated T for later on.
1. Arranging Marriages

_Apparently everything I have or ever will post is completely off its head. This one requires a bit of explaining. It began with our English teacher saying:__  
"Remember to back up your essays with evidence. So if you're going to say that Darcy is gay and desperately in love with Bingley, you'd better be able to prove it."_

_I took this rather to heart, you see, and decided to go for a full-blown slash version of Pride and Prejudice for my NaNoWriMo. I failed completely, but on the NaNoWriMo website it does encourage the longest, most bizarre similes and metaphors imaginable just to get up your word count; this is why they are in there. I'm not completely mental. I am continuing it because I relish the opportunity to be cruel to Elizabeth and Darcy respectively. _

_Secondly, it's packed with in-jokes, really obscure references and the like, so apologies for that. Also most of my jokes are stolen from a variety of sources I (disclaimer time!) don't own. _

_So anyway, enjoy._

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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

It is a truth less than universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune is not necessarily in need of a _wife, _per se.

However little known the feelings of a man may be upon entering the neighbourhood, the former is so fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, he is considered the rightful property of one or other of their daughters.

Jane and Elizabeth were quietly reading in their room when their flustered mother burst in, wringing her hands but beaming delightedly.

"Girls, have you heard?" she breathed happily. "There's a new man in the neighbourhood! Single, rich, with huge…tracts of land, and if my information is correct, he's _absolutely gorgeous._ One of you simply must marry him, I'll just _die_ if you don't."

"Mother, you've done this before," Elizabeth sighed. If a tiny, delicate bird had fluttered through the air, and been caught in the merciless claws of the overfed tabby in the garden below, which then charged, unable to control its momentum, into a window, crushing its skull, and then heard with its few dying heartbeats an exasperated sigh from the human inside, that sigh would have sounded like Elizabeth's did now. "You're always trying to marry us off."

"Barely a day goes by that you don't," added a bright eyed Jane.

"Now darlings, that's not true. When have I _ever_ tried to marry you off?" said Mrs. Bennet innocently.

"Fifteen times," the girls said in unison, like two hummingbirds speaking in unison.

"I had it at twelve," said a slightly quieter Mrs. Bennet.

"Last week, remember?" Jane reminisced. "That horrible old letch from Sandley Manor."

"I'll have you know he was thirty four," Mrs. Bennet said indignantly. "It's just that he smoked rather a lot."

"Either way, mother…" Elizabeth lightly swung her legs around the bed to face her. "We're not mere products to be sold off. Surely you understand the vital importance of a partner we can truly love- entail be damned. I truly wish for a man I can respect, and mother, can't you respect my wishes?"

Mrs. Bennet looked blankly at her daughter.

"But…a large fortune," she said brightly. Elizabeth gave up.

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Mr. Bennet stood in his library, just managing to look standoffishly sleek while crouching to peer through the Venetian blinds at the sitting room. Mr. Bingley, perched rather awkwardly on an armchair in the corner, quietly blew a strand of hair off his forehead like a bored sheepdog.

"Ahm…Mr. Bennet," he said tentatively, "I don't mean to be rude, but you did invite me…"

"And?" his host replied lugubriously.

"Ah…well…I was wondering what I was in fact doing here, sir."

"You," Mr. Bennet said in a tone so patronising Agamemnon couldn't have managed it, "are a mere tool that I happened to be using to incense my wife. Now kindly be quiet, she's launching into a rant and I'm rather enjoying it."

Mr. Bingley resigned himself to silence. After a few moments there was a slight intake of breath in the vicinity of Mr. Bennet. He tried quite unsuccessfully to bail himself away from the door, but it flew open and a lace-clad arm ending in a claw like hand seized his neck. He was pulled with alarming strength just outside the door. The owner of the arm briefly poked her head in, and she caught sight of Mr. Bingley.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, dear," she smiled, "I just have to have a few words with my husband. I won't be a moment." She slammed the door. Even without moving, Mr. Bingley could hear her berating perfectly.

"_How dare you!" _she hissed at her husband, "_That man rightfully belongs to our daughters, and you know it."_

Mr. Bingley balked slightly.

"_Darling, I was only…_"

"_Don't_ _'darling' me! You send him out here to the girls NOW. Or get rid of him._" Mrs. Bennet realised too late her fatal mistake. Mr. Bennet slipped back into the library and motioned to Mr. Bingley to leave.

"I'm terribly sorry. But…just go. Run. Take the horses if you will, just get away from this wretched place, and that accursed harpy who calls herself a matchmaker!"

Mr. Bingley was more than happy to oblige.

Meanwhile, the Bennet girls watched from an upstairs window, straining to hear their conversation. There was a gleeful squeal from among them as they saw, from a distance, the back of their visitor on his way from the house.

"I like his hair," said Jane. "It's all fluffy, like a mouse that's been dragged backwards through a really small hedge. But longer."

"Bugger his hair," snapped Lydia excitably, "what are his _clothes_ like?"

They watched carefully. At present, only the top of his head was visible from their vantage point. But gradually he revealed himself. Lydia and Kitty shrieked in unison.

"What? What?!" Elizabeth, Jane and Mary's heads snapped around, trying to ascertain the source of this sudden controversy. Kitty gave them a withering, 'duh' look.

"His jacket," tutted Lydia and Kitty. "It's blue; practically _purple._" Silence amonst the others.

"Ah...and what does that mean, sister dearest?"

"Oh, lord. Don't you _know?_" Lydia looked scandalised. Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a glance.

"Should we?"

"Yes. My god, you _are _a terribly naive bunch. I didn't realise quite how much at first."

"Naive?!"

"Yes. Lizzy, if you don't yet know how to tell a gentleman's character by his jacket colour, I truly think you should fully give up on ever finding a man." Lydia very gravely steepled her fingers and watched Bingley ride into the distance on a particularly evil looking black horse.

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That night, at Bingley's house at Netherfields, he gazed out upon the unfamiliar landscape of Derbyshire. His hands were neatly folded behind his back.

"I take it the wedding is not yet planned," came a voice from behind him. Mr. Bingley calmly turned his head to see a tall figure in the shadows, head angled downwards, vampirically abstaining from the pale twilight by the window.

"Tragically, no." Bingley sighed. "I didn't even catch a glimpse of the Bennet girls."

"I can't say I disapprove of that..."

"Oh, be quiet. One way or another I'm going to end up meeting them. Their mother, certainly, has her heart set on me as a son in law." He cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder. "If you had your way we'd never go out. We'd just sit around reading and looking mysterious, I suppose."

"Mysterious?" The voice had attained a trace of amusement. "Whether or not that is one of my qualities, Charles, it certainly is beyond your reach. I'm afraid you'd have to sit around reading and looking quite cheerful."

Mr. Bingley smiled. He turned back to the figure, becoming more serious.

"You're coming to the ball, you realise."

"Oh, now that's cruel," came the silky reply.


	2. We Like Big Balls

Rumour on its swift wings soon reached the Bennets, of whom the female members immediately dived for their clothes trunks at the whisper of Mr. Bingley's presence at the upcoming ball. There was a flurry of activity at Longbourn, girls scampering, petticoats being tied and skin quality being bemoaned. Mrs. Bennet was styling Jane's golden hair with all the care and delicacy of a slightly angry warthog.

"You have to look _good,_" protested her mother as Jane's eyes filled with tears of pain, and of mourning for the ruined strawlike hair she would most certainly have the next day. Lydia and Kitty, meanwhile, were debating which were the most seductive colour combinations, and rifling through their dresses to find the ones with the lowest necklines. Mary had sprinted away for a quick piano practise, and Elizabeth was alternately pinning up her own curls and soothing Jane.

Eventually, fully dressed, made up and practically shining with glamour, the girls made their way to the carriage. They noticed with a tad of animosity that Jane was noticeably more heavily decked out in jewels and cosmetics.

"So _she's_ your most marriageable daughter," scowled Kitty. "I wondered."

"What, my dears?"

"You've been tarting Jane up. You want her to marry that posh bugger down at Netherfields." noted Lydia.

Jane, meanwhile, was looking slightly nervous at all this. Elizabeth patted her arm reassuringly. Chatting noisily, they were all soon on their way.

When they arrived, the ball was everything they'd expected, and less: packed with people of sub-standard beauty and unlovely scent, filled with the sound of dreadful music. Mary recognised the particular song as Mozart's Heavy Metal Prelude in B Minor, but decided not to mention it to the others. Lydia caught, in the shadowy distance, the slightest glimpse of a soldier's coat, and whole heartedly pursued it, a seasoned hunter. Kitty followed, and Mary and their mother began to mix with all the men they could possibly uncover. Jane and Elizabeth, however, had a more specific target in mind.

Bingley's tufty hair was just visible over the top of the dancers, though Jane kept an eye on it, it was Elizabeth who assertively dragged her towards him by the hand. When they eventually got to him, they were disappointed to discover he was already talking to someone; to be specific, a tall, dark, aloof stranger.

As Jane shyly cut into their conversation, Elizabeth found the whole ball blurring before her eyes. Only the man beside Mr. Bingley remained clear and defined. She took in his tall, slender frame, sculpted face and beautifully waved hair, before letting herself get blissfully lost in his stunning eyes. The more she looked the more time slowed down, accentuating each flip of his dark locks, which were all of a sudden backlit by a pure white glow. His rich eyes turned to hers, and they gazed silently at each other, as if nothing but them mattered any more.

_What a disagreeable man, _Elizabeth thought with contempt.

Jane was blushing lightly and smiling at Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth was jerked back to the present.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Jane gestured to the stranger. There was a brief look between the men, like a pair of voles exchanging a glance. _Mind if I do?_ Said Bingley's look amicably, while the other's said _Oh, dear God no._

"Jane, Miss Bennet, this is Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Lydia and Kitty, standing about a metre away, backs to the men, snorted with laughter. Darcy looked ever so slightly miffed.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Elizabeth said coldly. She drifted away through the crowds, skirts billowing, like a disillusioned Dalek separated from its leaders, craving orders and feeling a bit foolish, then getting quite guilty because 'foolish' isn't a respectable Dalek emotion, nor is guilt, so either way the Dalek isn't quite in its element and wants to needlessly exterminate something to relieve its feelings of inadequacy. Lizzy tried to slip into Kitty's conversation, but couldn't help overhearing Bingley and Darcy talk quietly after Jane was asked to dance by another man.

"Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner." Elizabeth was, by now, settled into a safe vantage point. She saw from the back as Darcy nudged Bingley with a dainty shoulder. Bingley shied playfully away.

"I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!" Bingley laughed, but then calmed. "But honestly, surely you've seen how uncommonly pretty the girls are this evening."

"The only pretty girl was flirting most horrendously with you."

"Beautiful though she is..." (Darcy flicked his head in Bingley's general direction for this, like an irritable horse) "…surely you've seen her sister, that Elizabeth."

"Oh, her. She was tolerable, but by no means exceptionally handsome. And she spoke quite coldly to me."

"Come now. I'm sure she would be perfectly agreeable if you asked her to dance."

"Yes," sighed Darcy. "Perhaps. But well you know I haven't the slightest chance of dancing with the one person I'd _want_ to."

Kitty and Lydia suddenly made it known they had been listening by squeeing shrilly at his words in Elizabeth's respective ears.

"_What?_" she snapped, massaging her temples.

"What he _said,_ you moron," giggled Lydia. "He's simply _adorable._ What's his name? I'd love to go and hug him for saying that. I had no idea real life was this fluffy."

"What about what he said? What's he done?"

"Oh, Lizzy darling, grownups are talking. Go and stalk someone else."

Elizabeth did try stubbornly to continue listening to their conversation, but the two had moved off into the throng.

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_R&R, darlings, if any of it's making sense so far._


	3. Fear not, for I have a cunning plan

_My own sense of humour is now seriously weirding me out. But I love Lydia in this. And 'er mum. R&R )_

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The next morning, as the others pampered Mrs. Bennet in an attempt to avoid her customary hung over rage, Elizabeth and Jane draped themselves across various soft furnishings in their bedroom for a chat.

"He is just as a young man ought to be," said Jane, "sensible, good humoured, lively, huge…tracts of land, and ever so sweet."

"And he's not afraid to cry."

"I was just getting to that. Oh, he has such absolutely perfect…breeding."

"And his character is thereby complete." Elizabeth thoughtfully swung her legs. "You have, therefore, snagged the most perfect man in the whole of the neighbourhood."

"Don't fret, Lizzy. I'm sure there's someone just as good out there for you," bubbled Jane. "In fact, I saw that dishy one you were looking at. It was a funny Asiatic name, Dar'sí or something."

"Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, you remember?"

"Oh…no. No memory whatsoever of him."

"You're…a…silly…girl," giggled Jane, prodding Lizzy on the nose with each word. Lizzy felt rather tired of her giggly-infatuated mood; it reminded one of a lazy dog, wont to lie floppily around the house, which had had ecstasy injected directly into its brain. "But Lizzy, seriously, I think you should quite possibly go for him."

"Why?" Elizabeth was flabbergasted.

"You're not getting any younger, you know. Seize the day while you still can."

Scowling, Elizabeth decided to acquiesce for now.

"He looked like a good person to me. I liked him."

"That's your flaw, my dear." Countered Elizabeth. "You're a great deal too apt to like people in general. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes."

"Oh yes? And what, pray, was wrong with Darcy?"

"I don't know. There's something odd about him, something a bit queer."

Lydia, who happened to be passing the bedroom at the time, hooted with laughter. Jane and Elizabeth gave her a malevolent glare till she was gone. The girls went back to joyfully discussing their (for sure) future husbands.

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Mrs. Bennet's favourite room of the house was heavily decked out; tapestries adorned with a monochrome silhouette of her own face, banks of maps and unspecified strategic plans, and a fairly formidable weapons rack. Mrs. Bennet insisted on calling it her lair; it was in fact the sitting room, forbidden to the other Bennets in the afternoons. Inside it she was hatching her latest scheme.

"Mother, I brought tea," said Jane nervously, slipping past the 'No Entry' signs at the door. Inevitably the inevitable happened and she was seized by the arm and forced into a swivel chair.

"Elizabeth…"

"It's Jane, mother."

"Jane, sorry. I have a cunning plan."

"Is it as cunning as a fox that, for as long as it can remember, has wanted to pursue a career in cunning, then worked as hard as it possibly could in its Cunning GCSE and A Level, achieving a good grade and went on to take cunning as its university major?"

There was a long, dangerous pause.

"Yes. Now shut up, dear. "

"Well, what is it?"

"As you may know, we received a polite, yet open invitation from dear Mr. Bingley to come round whenever we so wished. At 0800 hours today…" (Jane looked confused at this, but kept listening) "…you shall go to his house."

"Oh. Shall I take the carriage?" Jane asked slightly wearily.

"No, dear. It's vitally important to the plan that you go on horseback."

"Horseback? Whatever for?"

"You see, you will arrive as near to dawn as makes no odds. And I made careful note of the fact that the front door of Netherfields faces east. Therefore, as you ride in (provided your hair is immaculately done, of course) you will be beautifully backlit by the rising sun. And a girl who makes quite such an entrance cannot possibly be rejected."

"I," said Jane thoughtfully, "can think of a great deal of holes in this plan. What shall I do while I'm there?"

"Ah, then the true work begins. Number one: whenever you are with him, you must certainly wear as little as possible."

"O…k," she said nervously. "And how much exactly is 'little'?"

"A bikini should do nicely, dear. With a tasteful shawl or sarong, no one can accuse you of being a slut, either. Anyway, secondly, hobnobs."

"Hobnobs?!"

"Yes, dear. You see, it is a truth universally acknowledged that all decent people confirm their romantic intentions by offering a hobnob."

Jane stared, mouth blankly ajar, wondering how on earth to argue.

"So, you must just get Bingley on his own at some point- anywhere is fine, dear, but a conservatory on a hilltop beneath the setting sun is ideal, obviously- and sweetly offer to give him a hobnob. Or even better, he could offer you a plate of hobnobs. But don't try too early! Whipping out your hobnobs early makes it seem you're coming on _far_ too strong."

"Mother, really, I don't see why I should have to use biscuits to attract a husband."

"You're not _attracting_ him, that's done. I saw him at the ball, he was only looking at Mr. Darcy. And everyone knows that gentlemen never look at the girls they mean to marry. He's hooked on you, darling; the hobnobs are merely a formality. Like a wedding ceremony, or a restraining order. The natural blossoming of your love is nothing to do with it."

"I swear, mother, I'd die to find out where you get all these theories from."

"Careful research and deduction over the years, my dear."

Jane couldn't help but let out a derisive snort, like a sleek, powerful athlete having just heard a hilarious joke mid-marathon, while taking a gulp of water.

"It's true!" cried Mrs. Bennet. "Look, I won a Pulitzer prize after I did my doctorate in Upper-Middle Class English Social Oddities."

"Blithering crikey," said Jane.

"Jane! There's no need for obscenities!"

"Sorry, mother."

"Never mind. But anyway dear, you _must_ get him to propose while you're with him, or I'll simply…I don't know. Come back victorious, or borne on your shield."

Jane looked blankly up. "Shield?"

"It's an old saying, darling. It means either come back victorious, or in the most opulent, posh way you can possibly think of. I'll hire you a litter and servants just in case. Good _luck_, my darling! A bientôt!"

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	4. Journey to the Centre of Netherfields

As early as possible the next morning, Jane, terrified but quite emotionally prepared for a long term mission, got up and had the others being preparing her hair. (They didn't quite know what they were doing; their instructions had been 'make it immaculate', so their creative centres were being nicely stretched.) Before the sun fully rose, she was pristinely dressed and had a bag of makeup and chocolate hobnobs packed. In the manner of Southampton-ers cheering the Titanic from the pier, her sisters bade her goodbye, and she rode off to Netherfields. Or, more accurately, gripped the horse as it started moving and waited for it to stop. Elizabeth was getting rather emotional.

"Oh, our little Jane is going to be _married_," she sighed.

"Don't be so naïve," sniffed Lydia. "She's only going away for the day. Day visits do not a lifelong love affair make."

"Hush, Lydia." Elizabeth looked up to the sky. "I think it might rain…oh, what if she got caught in the rain, and got a bit of a cold? Then Mr. Bingley would be nice enough to let her stay with him until she was better, and they'd completely fall for each other while they were together there. It would be _so _romantic!"

"What," laughed Lydia scornfully, "are the chances of that?"

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Jane decided about halfway through her journey that she was completely getting the hang of horse riding. She hadn't managed a miraculously gentle taming of a crazed wild horse, per se, but she was sensing less and less that it was going to buck her off with the express intention of crushing her collarbone like a twig. She looked progressively nobler as she rode.

As she went, she admired the wildflowers, picturesque hillsides and vast smoking factories of her native county, but then she caught sight of a strange movement in a thicket of tangled grass. Somehow she slowed the horse to take a closer look. She leaned further towards it, watching its erratic twitches, wondering whether she could hear something coming from it…

All of a sudden, a vast, squawking something barrelled out of the undergrowth and launched itself at her neck. Jane screamed, struggling and swiping at it, all the while desperately trying to stay on a (now slightly perturbed) horse. With all her strength she tore it away, throwing it towards the ground and feeling…feathers?

_No,_ she thought, _God no._ Her hand darted to her neck; she felt ragged edges in her usually smooth skin, as well as no small quantity of blood. She looked down in horror at her assailant: a huge, vicious, ruffled, audibly coughing goose.

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Towards the end of the day the Bennet household was winding down. The various sounds of squeeing and arguing were gradually silencing, and the most exciting- and doubtless, first interesting- thing to happen that afternoon did so.

A rather out of breath courier knocked at the door only to be greeted by a pair of what a slightly meaner personality would have called harpies. In fact, they were Lydia and her mother. They bore his cargo back to the others with glee.

"Look, girls, it's in Mr. Bingley's handwriting!" Mrs. Bennet said happily. "Can it be that he's announcing their engagement already?"

"How do you _know _it's in Mr. Bingley's handwriting?" asked Elizabeth suspiciously.

"Oh…just…trivia," Mrs. Bennet replied lightly. "I haven't been stalking him or anything. Goodness, no."

"Well," Elizabeth sighed, "open the letter then."

They did so, and it was indeed from Netherfields. Gathered like schoolgirls around a digital camera screen, they read it.

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bennet,_

_I'm sorry to inform you that your daughter Jane, en route to visit me, was subject to a rather unfortunate attack from a diseased goose. It drew blood, and thus Jane was infected with a heavy case of influenza of the birds. I'm sure you've heard in the tabloids that it is utterly deadly, but I assure you that this is not the case. In fact, the doctors have high hopes that she won't even be too severely brain damaged by the end of her sojourn. Needless to say, she is welcome as long as she needs to stay at Netherfields. We're happy to burn the furniture once she is departed. _

_Regards,_

_Charles Bingley Esq._

"Oh, dear heavens," cried Elizabeth.

"I know, Lizzy. Isn't it wonderful?"

"No, mother! No it isn't! Poor Jane is trapped there, sick beyond mortal comprehension!" She paused. "Why is it wonderful?"

"Because she must now spend plenty of time recuperating with a certain rich single man to look after her."

"Oh. I see how that would be good, yes."

"Now, she's taken care of." Their mother took on the matter of fact tone of a recently pleased realtor. "You're the next eldest, aren't you, Mary?"

"It's Lizzy, actually mummy."

"Of course. Lizzy, darling, it's your turn to be married off. Now, I heard there was a delectable young chap staying with Mr. Bingley at the moment. Tall, dark, mysterious, funny name. Ring any bells?"

"No," Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't recall anyone like that." She turned away from the others and began, confidentially, to plot her first visit to poor, dear, near-departed Jane.

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	5. Mr Darcy: Dark Lord of the Sith

_And lo, one of Bingley's dear sisters twirls onto the scene. I've managed to sneak in an Eva reference this time winks at Kia, and a couple of lines I've stolen completely. Ah, plagiarism :)_

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Back in her room, Elizabeth's mind was engaged in a raging debate over what she should pack. Her small backpack would make her look like an over-eager schoolgirl; the larger one would make her look like she was on a particularly long Duke of Edinburgh expedition. And of course, it took every fibre of her willpower not to perch a fedora on her head and sling a bullwhip over her shoulder. In the end, she merely took a clutch purse containing, among other things, an inexhaustible supply of concealer and her favourite bottle of mace. Just in case.

Lacing on the sturdiest pair of walking boots she could find (sure that they wouldn't notice her feet) Elizabeth informed her family that she could be gone for quite some time, and set out for the distant Netherfields.

She quickly began to enjoy herself. The sky was blue- the kind of blue you get after washing it twice a day in dirty water for a number of years, at least- and the sun, while not quite shining, was at least visible. As Elizabeth walked, she daringly stepped in puddles, splashing harder and harder, giggling happily; at least until one of the puddles she jumped in turned out to be six feet deep. Later, she'd try not to think about that.

Elizabeth walked a little more reservedly the last mile or so. At last, just as the sun began to set, she knocked confidently on the manor door and picked the last few leaves out of her tresses. She was shown into the parlour, where those present showed a great deal of surprise that she should have walked so far, in such dirty weather, by herself, and in such hideous walking boots. However, Mr. Bingley received her with politeness and good humour; Mr. Darcy said almost nothing at all. He stood with a slender blonde woman on his arm, and treated her rather as one treats an unfamiliar and over affectionate dog whose owners are determined for you to like it. She was introduced as Miss Caroline Bingley.

"My lord, Miss Elizabeth!" she cried. "You're drenched, and your stockings are ruined! And is that a fedora you're wearing?!"

"No," said Elizabeth, quickly snatching it off her head and hiding it behind her back. There was a silence between the four of them.

"Well…might I ask how Jane is doing?" said Elizabeth meekly.

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"My _dear_ Mr. Darcy," cried Caroline Bingley, "you simply _must_ look at these."

Mr. Darcy was stiffly relaxing- an oxymoron, yes, but if anyone can manage this particular oxymoron, it's Darcy- on his favourite chaise longue. Hearing Caroline, he groaned gently.

The four of them had had a rather austere dinner; Elizabeth was all gratitude for Mr. Bingley's boundless generosity, and Caroline was all admiration for Mr. Darcy in general. He felt that he'd been quite thoroughly mentally beaten with a lipstick-coated plank, and had been looking forward to a break from her.

"Why," he said under his breath to the ceiling. "Why do you always send them to me? What am I supposed to _do_ with them?"

"Look, Fitzwilliam…"

"It's Darcy, Miss Bingley. I've told you."

"Ah, yes," she laughed brightly. "Always so formal! I love that in a man." She delicately brushed her gloved hand against his. Darcy audibly sighed in a pained sort of way.

"Anyway," continued Caroline, "look at these venues. They're gorgeous! Especially this one, Felbrigg Hall: it caters specially for weddings, you see." She pushed a stack of brochures under his nose, and he rolled his eyes.

"Miss Bingley, as I truly hope I've impressed upon you before, I certainly do not want to marry you, in a hall or anywhere else."

"What are you trying to say, Darcy?"

"I am saying," he said wearily, pressing a knuckle into his forehead, "that I do _not_ want to marry you. I truly, deeply, don't want to. Please, just leave me alone and stop bringing me brochures for our wedding."

"Alright," she sighed, smiling stoically. "I can see you're not in the best of moods. And I understand organizing a wedding can be difficult for men." The word 'understand' was spoken in such a simpering, patronizing tone that Darcy shuddered quite violently.

"I'll see you later, my darling. _À bientôt." _She reached out to stroke his cheek, but he wrenched it away as far as he could short of diving under the chaise. She gave a tinkling laugh, chuckling something about how adorably shy he was. Darcy sank back down as she walked away, wondering whether '_disturbingly annoying'_ was a viable murder defense.

_I swear, _he thought, _if it weren't for Charles, I wouldn't stand for this. _Caroline was trying to blow kisses at him, and as he stubbornly refused to make eye contact, he paused to think. _Would Charles let me get a restraining order against her? If I asked him really nicely? I can usually repulse stalkers perfectly easily with (what Charles calls) my Antisocial Terror Field.… but there's something almost unnatural about Caroline. _

_But no matter who goes after me, Charles must have to suffer his stalkers, _Darcy thought. _He couldn't annoy a spurned lover with a bad hangover. He just hasn't got it in him, poor thing._ He looked over at him; he and Elizabeth were cheerfully conversing. Bingley laughed at something she said, and Darcy couldn't help but smile, just a little.

Caroline spotted this from across the room, and traced his eye line a tad inaccurately back to Elizabeth. If the Hulk was wearing fluorescent green rags, and had dyed his hair green, and sat at the peak of a lush pine tree in an evergreen forest at the height of summer, an aerial photo of the whole scene still wouldn't be as green as Caroline was with envy, right then. She picked up her skirts and elbowed Elizabeth out of Darcy's sight in as ladylike a manner as she could possibly muster. Darcy quietly went back to his book.

"Hello, Mr. Darcy."

"For heaven's sake, I told you…" Darcy looked up and started. "Oh, Miss Bennet. I'm sorry, I thought you were…someone else."

"Not to worry," she said coldly. She and Darcy saw Caroline starting towards a cabinet full of wedding dress catalogues, and there was a silent, mutual agreement to leave as soon as possible. They went through the house, Darcy making no effort whatsoever to start a conversation.

"I see you pass very much of your time with Miss Bingley," Elizabeth eventually said. Darcy snorted, for want of a more dignified way of saying 'snorted'.

"Not through choice, I assure you."

"My, Mr. Darcy. What fault do you see in such a lady?"

"My ideal partner must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions. I'm afraid that to say dear Miss Bingley certainly does not would be an understatement."

"I see you keep your standards high."

"I must. Plenty of women I meet are recommended to me on the grounds of their fortunes, or high birth, or beauty; but in truth any sensible person would rather marry the Wicked Witch of the West than any of them."

He paused; Elizabeth couldn't bear pauses, but Darcy seemed to find it a far more bearable alternative to making conversation. She cast him a variety of sidelong glances but he had slipped back into his book.

"I noticed you were watching me, a moment ago," she said quietly, but enquiringly.

Mr. Darcy made a noise of vague assent.

"I was wondering...it did make Miss Bingley rather jealous. Is it perhaps that when we first met at the ball, you didn't think much of me; but as the days went by your admiration for me slowly grew? And now you've grown to love my sparkling eyes and fiery personality, but your own temperament prevents you from saying anything so bold?"

Elizabeth looked up, and started: Darcy had put down his book, and had fixed his dark eyes on her.

"Good heavens, Miss Bennet," he cried. "Of course not! I wasn't looking at _you._"

Elizabeth was taken aback, in the same way as a sceptic finding irrevocable proof of the existence of telekinetic space aliens is taken aback. It was all she could do that evening to make her excuses and leave.

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As the days went by, the blue gradually drained out of Jane's trembling cheeks, subsiding through to purple, then bright red, and then quite a bearable shade of beige. Slowly but surely, she pulled away from the toilet's embraces and rejoined society; she was more often than not wrapped in a duvet at dinner, admittedly, but she could still make conversation. Mrs. Bennet insisted on visiting her in the spirit of casing her future son-in-law's joint, Lydia and Kitty in tow.

Elizabeth relayed her conversation with Darcy to Jane, who had no idea what to make of it; so she confided in her other sisters, who began to giggle insatiably. She could not say it was entirely unexpected.

"I just don't understand," said Elizabeth quietly, on the opposite side of the room to Darcy. "He said he wasn't looking at me, and made it perfectly clear he considers Miss Bingley completely disagreeable...But I must say, I've never seen such a soft expression on Mr. Darcy. I haven't the slightest clue who he was looking at, unless of course he just pretended it wasn't me, out of modesty."

At these words, Lydia began to console Elizabeth, which made her feel rather put out. She left post haste, declaring 'I must see to Jane' by way of an excuse, and left her two younger sisters to corner Mr. Darcy that evening.

"My dear Mr. Darcy, we just wanted to congratulate you," smiled Lydia.

"On what, Miss Lydia?" he asked blankly.

"On causing Lizzy quite the most confusion and mental anguish I think she's ever had to cope with, of course." Lydia winked rogueishly.

"Thank you," said Mr. Darcy, and for once it sounded like he really meant it.


	6. Only Two Motives

_Eek. I've now officially run out of the part of the story I wrote in November: I shall have to type furiously to keep up. And my exams ('O Fortuna' plays in background) are now on, so apologies for any delays! Cheers for all the lovely reviews, keep 'em coming for my own emotional support Unless this chapter sucks, in which case, you have permission to criticise! That eventuality is looking likely, in fact: I get the feeling revision kills brain cells. Eh. I'm rambling a bit now. I'll get on with it. _

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By the end of Jane's long week of recovery, Caroline had thoroughly upped her offensive against the younger resident Miss Bennet. One dinnertime (spent, as usual, by Darcy's side) she coolly observed a friendly, but increasingly heated argument between Lydia and her mother. Elizabeth was seated between the two, and bore an expression much like one surrounded by enemy riflemen. For his amusement, Darcy began to watch her, incredibly slowly but inexorably, slide under the table; but to his chagrin he heard Caroline drawl quietly into his ear:

"Now, my dear Mr. Darcy, lovely as her eyes are, _do_ take a moment to marvel at what lovely parents-in-law you shall have."

Elizabeth heard her. Her head snapped around, fixing upon Caroline's icy blue eyes. Caroline's lips curled smugly, expecting her to remain silent; but to the contrary, Elizabeth relished such a challenge.

"Indeed, _you_ wouldn't need such pleasant relatives, Miss Bingley," she said sweetly. "Not with _your_ ample charms. Why, you're more charming than my mother and all my sisters put together!"

Caroline raised a delicate, carefully shaped blonde eyebrow. Lydia and Mrs. Bennet continued rowing, oblivious to the conversation.

"You spoke of wanting a wife skilled in music, and crafts, Mr. Darcy," said Caroline rather loudly, glaring at Elizabeth. "But personally I think a wife skilled merely in _hiking _is just as good a match."

"Hiking? Heavens, no! You'll want a wife who can gossip with the best of them, Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth growled.

"My dear Mr. Darcy might as well marry a pack mule," snapped Caroline.

"He might just as well marry a parrot!"

Whatever pretence there was was completely out of the window. The two women were leaning towards each other over the table now, brows furrowed, starting to shout. If the pair had started to emit lightning bolts, none of the others would have been surprised in the least. The other Bennets gradually fell silent to watch, in an awed manner.

It was a long time before the two realised that Mr. Darcy had left the table.

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The next day the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly; Caroline pleasantly, if a little coolly, bade her goodbye and even shook hands. Profuse, embarassed apologies had already been exchanged with Mr. Bingley the previous evening and now he merely smiled, promising a ball at Netherfields in the very near future.

Their departure was quite welcome to Mr. Darcy. It meant that the force of Caroline was now fully concentrated on him, of course, but he decided that this was his cross to bear. _She shouldn't be forced on Elizabeth on my account- whether or not she is indeed a threat to Caroline's crown, as it were. _Darcy shuddered at the thought. Jane was thanking Bingley profusely, laughing and holding his hand, and Darcy couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

To his surprise, Caroline- still in a huff- stormed off to her room to sulk. He and Bingley attempted to seize a few minutes of peace and quiet.

"Thank _god_ they're gone," said Darcy fiercely. Bingley laughed.

"They weren't that bad. The girls are all quite sweet, in their own way."

"Typical," Darcy sighed, rolling his eyes. "If they had banded together to chain you in a dungeon somewhere, you would still have had perfectly cordial feelings about their visit."

"A dungeon?" Bingley mused. "It might not be so bad. Depends who I was with. HobNob?"

"Thank you," said Darcy, delicately seizing one from the proffered plate.

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"I hope that you have ordered a good dinner today, my dear, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party." Mr. Bennet _had_ been having a rather more soothing weekend than normal, with the girls at Netherfields, and was now beginning to feel malicious.

"What do you mean, dear?

"The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger."

"Is he an _officer _and a gentleman and a stranger?" said Lydia instantly.

Mr. Bennet replied in the negative, with an odd look towards her.

"Curses," drawled Lydia, and went back to her tea.

"Well, is it Mr. Bingley, then? I shall certainly be glad to see him," cut in Jane, her voice bright and eager.

"It most certainly is _not_ Mr. Bingley," replied her father. "It is a person I never saw in the course of my whole life."

This roused general astonishment; even Lydia dropped her deadpan facade momentarily, to steeple her fingers and smirk. Mr. Bennet enjoyed the pleasure of being questioned by all the rest at once. After a while, he thus explained:

"About a month ago I received a letter; it arrived in the dead of night, borne by a somewhat spooky cloaked rider. It informed me that I had been chosen to carry on the work of someone called Kira, and several pages of something called the Note were enclosed. But the rider then realised that he was at number 64, not 62, and gave me the letter that was addressed to _us._

"It was from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases."

"Why?" cried Kitty. "He's not involved in the mafia, is he? Good heavens!"

"No," sighed Mr. Bennet patiently. "My estate is entailed to him, as the family's only male heir. I've explained this. Several times, in fact."

A hiss of dissent spread through the crowd of Bennet girls, originating in the region of their mother.

"Pray do not speak of that odious man," cried Mrs. Bennet, flinging an arm across her forehead and collapsing slowly into an armchair, sniffing (in a way she thought was) softly. "It is the hardest thing in the world, that your estate should be en...en_tailed_ away from your own children!"

"Just read the letter, father. Please," sighed Elizabeth. He did so.

_Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October_

_Dear Sir, _

_The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach. Unfortunately I've always been rather nervous about such things, so I made no move to do so; but recently I am delighted to say I heard a rumour about your association with a certain Mr. Darcy. I bring up the subject merely because he is some relation to my right honorable patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and I had some interest in meeting him through you. I have heard much about his delightful disposition, and luscious, silky hair...Oh, I'm terribly sorry. My mind was wandering for a moment just then, and I'm afraid I can't find my correcting fluid. _

_Anyway, to get to the point, I would very much like to make amends with you and your family. If you should have no objection to allowing me into your home, I propose myself the satisfaction of visiting you as soon as possible. (Do not worry, I know the exact location of Longbourn estate: it is just down the road from Netherfield.) _

_I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend, _

_WILLIAM COLLINS_

"Oh...my," said Lydia quietly. "Shall we send a message of warning to Netherfield? I feel rather obliged."

"Don't be silly, dear," chided Mrs. Bennet. "Now come on, we're going to the shops."

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	7. The Stalker, The Ex and the Wardrobe

_Hmm, now, I'm not allowed to reply to reviews in the body of the story, am I? Oh well, screw the man.__ I'll keep it short._

_Artemis11: Don't worry, you're not mean, you're absolutely right :p Their style of speech was...well, semi-intentional And it's got a lot more intentional this time... _

_Blizzaris: I LOVE your review. It's awesome! And oh so encouraging for me :) I'll have to introduce you to my English teacher, she actually explained the mystery of where everyone's income comes from in the book. _

_And everyone else, thanks so much again for your reviews! They're vital!_

_So, here we go! Will Lizzy get the guy? Will Darcy get the girl? Is it even possible for__ Mikami to somehow escape his own storyline, and turn up in Austen's? The answer to all three being, of course, 'Let's hope not', I'll get on with this next instalment of Munchies...The references are more obscure today, I'm being quite nonsensical, and there's some indiscriminate lifting going on. I'm at my best, clearly …_

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Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, his knock at the door sending Mrs. Bennet into screeching flurries of excitement; if her skirts hadn't been in quite a complex arrangement that day, she might well have thrown herself at the door yelping like a Jack Russell. As it was, she pawed insistently at her husband till he answered it.

Though she couldn't be sure why, the tall, heavy looking young man at the door reminded Elizabeth of what she thought Cicero would look like. He was received with great politeness (and a lugubrious 'aaahlright' from Kitty and Lydia) by the family, and was led to the table to engage in a great deal of rather grave and formal small talk. He had not been seated long before he complemented Mrs. Bennet on having such beautiful daughters.

"And speaking of beautiful," he added pensively, "I _have_ heard much about a certain recent fixture at Netherfield, a Mr…"

"Darcy?" said Elizabeth sharply. At this, Lydia's eyes roved from Mr. Collins to her. She smirked, delicately chewing the tip of her index finger, and waited- hoped, in fact- for the fur to fly.

"Why yes, Miss Elizabeth," smiled Mr. Collins. "As you know, he is the nephew of my delightful patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh…and that's the only reason I mention him, of course." Collins laughed shortly, then raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean to say you've met Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, several times," said Elizabeth warily.

"Might I ask what he is like?"

"Well…" Elizabeth was taken aback. She frowned, turning her answer over in her mind. "To be quite frank, I find him _most_ disagreeable. He was, I'm sorry to say, shockingly rude to me one night at a ball, and after that I've found him constantly cold and aloof."

"No, no, never mind about that," said Mr. Collins excitedly. "What does he _look_ like?"

"Excuse me?" Every inhabitant of the table had now turned to Mr. Collins in a far more genuine state of curiosity than they were in before. The various muscles of Mr. Bennet's face appeared to be trying to get as far away from each other as possible; a forkful of food hung in midair several inches away from Lydia's jaw, which coincidentally was also hanging in midair.

"Have you not met Mr. Darcy before, Mr. Collins?" Lydia cut in suddenly.

"I'm afraid not. I've heard about him often; but then, nothing more than how tall and dark he is," Mr. Collins sighed. "I have nothing more to go on than that. And a few paintings."

"Oh, trust me, he's _gorgeous,_" said Lydia. Kitty grinned and nodded.

"Lydia!" Mrs. Bennet cried, scandalised. She and Elizabeth glared at the pair.

"I do apologise, mother. I mean, one could say that he _is _quite handsome."

"He is?" Mr. Collins's eyes were fixed on Lydia's, intrigued.

"He is indeed," smiled Lydia, delighted. "He has beautiful hair…it falls in such elegant, soft waves, and it's awfully rich and dark. Oh, and his _eyes_! They're a delightful shade, and so deep! As deep as…As…"

"As a thousand oceans?" interjected Kitty.

"Yes, Kitty, exactly. Thank you. Anyway, he really does have the most stunning figure…"

"Lydia!" cried Mr. Bennet. "This is _not_ a proper conversation to be having, especially in company!"

"Father, don't be offended, but please stay out of this conversation. For your own good."

_A perfectly fair comment, I suppose,_ thought Mr. Bennet. He happily obliged and went back to his meal. The other girls, meanwhile, continued to stare.

"Besides," added Lydia, leaning across the table, smiling slyly and resting her face on her hands, "our current company is quite enjoying the improper conversation, is he not?"

"You mentioned Mr. Darcy's figure…" enquired Mr. Collins. Lydia's smile broadened.

"He's taller than you, and very slender. His face is fantastic, needless to say…"

"And…I know it might be presumptuous to assume you know this, Miss Lydia, having not properly come out into society yourself…"

"Yes, yes," Lydia nodded and waved a hand vaguely.

"…But is Mr. Darcy presently engaged? Or if not, is there anyone he particularly…has his eye on? I ask merely because he and Lady Catherine's daughter were once betrothed, I believe."

"Oh, my dear Mr. Collins," Lydia laughed. "Of course he does."

Mr. Collins started. Mrs. Bennet had long ago resigned herself to desolately sipping wine with her husband; Elizabeth's head snapped towards Lydia, and Jane, seeing her sudden change of expression, looked from one to the other in innocent bewilderment. Finally, Mr. Collins cleared his throat.

"He…he does?"

"Indeed," Lydia said, leaning lazily back.

"I heard nothing of this from Lady Catherine," he said curiously. "Unless you mean Anne?"

"Oh, no. From what I can tell he has no interest in _that _engagement."

"Really? Then who?"

"Someone…" Lydia spoke quietly, leaning across the table once more. For an instant, she flicked her eyes towards Jane and Elizabeth and grinned. "Someone who, I have on good authority, he quite refuses to part with, Mr. Collins."

"But…"

"I _am_ sure," Lydia's dark lips curled upwards, and she continued innocently: "I'm sure you'll meet him soon, and I'm sure you'll notice too."

Before anything else could be said, Mrs. Bennet stood up.

"Lydia, I beg of you, stop," she wailed, quite thoroughly distressed. "I mean no disrespect to you, Mr. Collins, but this was _not_ meant to be a social occasion. We invited you to discuss my dear daughters' entail, and thanks to _Lydia-" (_at this, Lydia smiled cheerily and raised her glass slightly) "-the whole visit has degenerated into complete chaos!"

"Mother, don't be so melodramatic," sighed Jane.

"Is she?" murmured Elizabeth to her.

Mrs. Bennet composed herself, and turned back to Mr. Collins.

"My dear cousin, I apologise unreservedly for my daughter's conduct today."

"You have nothing to worry about, my dear lady. I've found the evening…" (Mr. Collins narrowed his eyes slightly at Lydia) "…most illuminating."

"Excellent," said Mr. Bennet. "Now, Mr. Collins, let us discuss the entail fully." The men retired to the study, and the girls went their separate ways.

"I don't mean to complain, Lizzy," murmured Jane on their way upstairs, "but that Mr. Collins didn't strike me as entirely sensible."

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That night, with Mr. Collins safely in the guestroom, the sisters were gradually going to sleep. On her way to her room, Elizabeth and Lydia met in the corridor.

"Lydia," whispered Elizabeth as they passed, "thank you for doing that earlier. It was sweet of you."

"Doing what, Lizzy?"

"You know, telling that awful Mr. Collins that Darcy…had someone else in mind." Elizabeth smiled shyly.

Lydia opened her mouth, frowning, but then remembered and laughed.

"Oh, Lizzy, that wasn't for you! He certainly doesn't have you in mind," she chuckled, and started back towards her bedroom. Elizabeth caught her arm and pulled her back.

"Lydia, what are you talking about?" she said darkly. "Who on earth was it for? You can't think Jane feels…"

"No, don't be silly."

"Then…who _were_ you trying to protect?"

"Mr. Darcy, of course," Lydia said brightly.

"_What?"_ Elizabeth hastily lowered her voice, casting a furtive glance in the direction of Mr. Collins's room. "Why?"

"Don't be so cruel. He might be a little haughty, but that's no reason to set Mr. Collins on him. Besides, in truth he _does_ have someone in mind." Lydia paused, grinning. "Hang _on…_Lizzy, why are you so interested in dear Mr. Darcy?"

"I'm not!"

"You're blushing," said Lydia, in a half-whisper, half-giggle.

"Shut up, Lydia! Leave me alone," she hissed, and pushed past her to her bedroom. Lydia tutted, smiling sagely, and continued on her way.

Jane decided not to question the red, fuming Elizabeth who burst in and pulled her blankets over her head, grumbling quietly.

_Someone else Darcy has in mind…_Elizabeth wondered grumpily. _It must be Caroline. That harpy…Oh, no matter. They deserve each other._

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As they usually did once in a while, the other Bennet sisters gave in to Lydia and Kitty's lingering desire to visit Meryton. A shadow and a cunning plan had been growing in their mind; whispers of the visiting army were in the air. Kitty insisted she could smell the handsomest men from a mile off. Jane and Elizabeth, although they were feeling considerably less than voyeuristic that morning, agreed that giving Mr. Collins a wide berth could only benefit them all. Dressed and ready, they walked into the village.

The eyes of the younger Bennets immediately wandered up the street in quest of the officers. A few were sighted by Kitty, though not enough to sustain her interest; but the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with another officer on the other side of the way. They were all struck with the stranger's air, and they all wondered who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under the pretense of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two men, turning back, had reached the same spot.

Lydia recognized the other officer as a Mr. Denny, who entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him from London the previous day, and was happy to say had accepted a commission in their corps. Mr. Wickham turned out to be quite charming; Elizabeth was struck by his elegant features, and the ease of his smile. They stood talking very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their attention; Darcy and Bingley were riding down the street. Bingley began the usual civilities, with Jane as the principal object, but Elizabeth couldn't help watching Darcy; he had gone quite white, staring straight at Mr. Wickham. She was surprised to see Mr. Wickham staring back, the confident smile gone from his face.

"George," murmured Darcy.

"Fitzwilliam," replied Mr. Wickham coldly.

"You have a lot of nerve," hissed Darcy. "Still tracking me down after all these years, are we?"

"Ha!" Mr. Wickham laughed bitterly, and scowled. "Don't flatter yourself. I was counting on you _not_ being here. You don't even live here, do you?"

Darcy narrowed his eyes. Wickham's eye's wandered to Bingley; he was still talking merrily to Jane, not noticing their low conversation. Elizabeth continued to eavesdrop unnoticed, trying desperately to ascertain what was going on.

"Ah, I see," Mr. Wickham smirked. "You've found someone new to suck blood from."

"Leave him out of this," said Darcy. His voice was as quiet and calm as ever, but suddenly dark.

"I wouldn't dream of it. He's nothing."

"Stop it," Darcy's voice rose. "You can't talk, trailing after me still. You're pathetic."

"I am _not_ trailing after you," snapped Wickham. "You're not even _close_ to worth it."

"Ah, and you've done so much better since?" At this, Wickham scowled. He lightly touched Lydia's shoulder, as she spoke to Mr. Denny. She turned attentively, and looked pleasantly surprised to see him smiling at her. She smiled sweetly back and continued to talk.

"I'm doing fine," Wickham growled. "Better than you, at least."

Darcy didn't dignify him with a response. He scowled, motioning for Bingley to join him. They rode away down the street, not looking back; Elizabeth was bewildered. What could be the meaning of their exchange? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know. She made up her mind to ask Mr. Wickham as soon as she could.

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"Will? Are you alright?" Bingley's voice was full of concern as they rode slowly out of sight. Darcy was breathing shallowly, his brows furrowed with anger. Bingley tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I…I'm sorry," Darcy said quietly. "I didn't mean to drag you away like that."

"Don't worry," said Bingley earnestly. "Will…was that George? From when you were younger?"

Darcy couldn't meet his eyes. He nodded.

"Ah," Bingley gave a small smile. "You never did tell me how it ended. Badly, I take it."

"I don't want to think about it," murmured Darcy. Bingley knew that, for now, the last thing he wanted was to talk and be comforted; they both lapsed into silence for the ride home.

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_Review meeee! Be brutal…or complement me excessively. But nothing in between. Nah, just kidding. R&R!_


	8. Curious George

_Today's chapter is dedicated to RavynneRune, __who out of the four other slashfics in the Jane Austen section (shock! Everyone's a hetfiend!) has written the only Darcy/Bingley fic, apparently in existence. Respect, and thankies for that. And speaking of Darcy/Bingley fics, my apologies that there is so little fluff in Munchies at the moment. There will be…oh, there will be. _

_Makayla: Thank you very much, I am still doggedly trying to keep Mr. Bennet in character, so it's good to hear that someone appreciates that!_

_Pottersgal15: If I don't get round to writing a gay vampire P&P fic, you have to. SOMEBODY has to. _

_And to my other reviewers, thanks again! I love yuz all. I present you now with this latest slice of Bennet life, armed with fresh knowledge of the P&P universe from the Jane Austen museum. It is truly tragic that she lived in the time before Fictionpress. Wouldn't her novels be so much more at home there? She'd get fabulous reviews. _

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Mr. Bennet had long learned to use his daughters as quite useful and accurate instruments in gauging the various qualities of guests. In this case, as the girls, Mr. Collins, and Mr. Wickham arrived at the front path, the lion's share of their attention went to the latter; Kitty and Lydia chatted loudly and laughingly with him, smiling broadly, and even Jane and Elizabeth were speaking more cheerily than they usually did. Compared to Wickham, Mr. Collins was being thoroughly ignored.

_Mr. Collins is __being his usual dull self; Mr. Wickham possesses the interesting and innate ability to charm females,_ Mr. Bennet thought. And based on those two pieces of information, he made the decision (still obliged to include Mr. Collins at dinner, of course) to extend an invitation to the unfamiliar, elegant young man with the easy smile. Wickham, at least, would be interesting company; and Mr. Bennet knew that if he didn't, the girls' vengeance would be swift.

As it was, they gathered in the dining room in high spirits. Wickham was the man towards whom almost every eye was turned, and to Elizabeth's delight, she was seated beside him. With such plentiful distraction for the girls, Mr. Collins all but faded into insignificance.

Elizabeth could speak leisurely to Mr. Wickham, but she dared not mention the story she most wished to hear: the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. However, her curiosity was unexpectedly relieved when Mr. Wickham brought up the subject himself; after inquiring how far Netherfield was from Meryton, he hesitatingly asked how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

"About a month," said Elizabeth. Unwilling to let the subject drop, she added: "He possesses great property in Derbyshire, as I understand, although he seems to spend little time there."

"Yes," replied Wickham with a small smile, which Elizabeth shyly returned. "His estate there is certainly noble… and you certainly could not have found a person who knows it better than myself. I have been connected with Darcy – I mean, with his family – since my infancy."

Elizabeth couldn't help but look surprised.

"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, considering you witnessed our meeting earlier," Mr. Wickham smiled darkly. "You might say it was… well, colder than one might expect. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"

"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth. "I doubt that I could stand any more than the few days I spent in the same house as him. I find him…" -Elizabeth paused to struggle for the right wording- "…quite disagreeable."

"I have no right to give my opinion, as to whether or not he is disagreeable," said Mr. Wickham, though his eyes glinted. "I've known him far too long and too well to be a fair judge, and it is quite impossible for me to be impartial."

Elizabeth looked at Wickham questioningly, wondering how to reply.

"That said," said Mr. Wickham suddenly, lowering his voice, "my opinion is astonishingly similar to yours, whether or not I have the right to give it."

Elizabeth blushed, and they- as subtly as they could- exchanged grins. However, although hers was purely amused, she couldn't help but notice Mr. Wickham's was tinged with something altogether different; bitterness, perhaps. This sight only served to pique Elizabeth's curiosity further.

"Your thoughts on Darcy are not uncommon, I assure you," said Elizabeth. "Darcy is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by anyone."

"I cannot pretend to be sorry," replied Wickham. He was still smiling, in the slightly strange, unfamiliar way he did whenever Darcy was brought up. "I wonder whether he'll stay much longer."

"I'm afraid I know nothing of his plans, he didn't speak of them while I stayed at Netherfield," said Elizabeth nervously. "I hope your plans here will not be affected by him being in the neighbourhood…"

"Oh, no! Especially since I have found such delightful company here. Indeed, company that seems to desire me to stay…"

Elizabeth could not help but smile happily, raising a hand to her mouth self-consciously.

"Besides, it isn't for _me _to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, then _he_ must go. We never will be on friendly terms again, and it always gives me great pain to meet him, but I have no reason to avoid him other than the greatest sense of ill-usage."

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase along with the passion in Mr. Wickham's voice, but the delicacy of the subject prevented further enquiry. She looked expectantly up at his shining eyes, and his dark brows (which were furrowed slightly, but attractively so).

The conversation shifted slightly; Wickham made small talk with the other girls, speaking of Meryton, the neighbourhood, and society.

"It is a delightful place to have been posted," he said pleasantly, then added to Elizabeth, "Not that I intended for a military life. The church ought to have been my profession."

"Really?" said Elizabeth, listening intently.

"Yes. I was brought up in the church, and would by now have inherited a most valuable living, if it weren't for the gentleman we've just been speaking of."

"Indeed!"

"Yes. His father, the late Mr. Darcy, bequeathed me his best living- he was my godfather, you see- and thought he had provided for me well. But when it became free, the younger Mr. Darcy saw that it was given elsewhere."

"How could that be?" cried Elizabeth. "How could his will be disregarded? Couldn't you have…"

"The terms of the bequest were too informal to give me any hope from the law," sighed Wickham, shaking his head. "Darcy _asserted_ that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence…in short, he's nothing but a sore loser."

Elizabeth started at the way he slightly snapped that last phrase.

"I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it," he continued more coolly. "We did… fall out, you understand. I _may_ have spoken my opinion of him, and _to_ him, too freely. But I can recall nothing worse! The fact is, we are very different men, and he hates me."

"Oh, Mr. Wickham, I'm sure he doesn't _really…"_

"And I hate him," said Wickham fiercely.

"Well," said Elizabeth awkwardly, "either way, this is shocking. He deserves to be publicly disgraced."

"I know, and he will be. But not by me, until I can forget his father."

Elizabeth could have wriggled with admiration at this. She thought he looked handsomer than ever as he spoke.

"But what," she said after a pause, "can have been his motive? What could have made him behave so cruelly?"

"A thorough, determined dislike of me. A dislike that I can only attribute to jealousy. It is entirely his fault."

"I never liked Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, partly truthfully, "but I did not think him capable of such malicious revenge as this. And against such an amiable man, and a childhood friend!"

"Indeed. The story of our childhood is a long and troubled one," Wickham said. And then, as if sensing the longing in Elizabeth's eyes, added "Would you like to hear it?"

"Absolutely," cried Elizabeth. Kitty and Lydia, opposite the two of them at the table, subtly slid in a little closer to listen, munching their dinner slowly and carefully so as not to drown out his words.

"As children we spent all day together on his father's land. We were inseparable, especially when we grew older. We'd spend all day talking, riding… sitting outside and ki…" Mr. Wickham became suddenly aware of Lydia grinning alarmingly close to him, and he and Elizabeth shifted away. "Anyway, you understand. We were very close. But then…"

"Yes?" Elizabeth asked in hushed tones. Wickham sighed theatrically.

"He changed. He became suddenly hostile and suspicious of me, for no reason I could possibly fathom. He even insanely believed I wished to elope with his sister! Honestly!"

"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley!" Elizabeth mused. "How can Mr. Bingley, who seems truly amiable, be friends with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?"

"Not at all. I merely pity him, stuck with such a man."

"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming young man." Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't understand it. He cannot know what Darcy is like."

"Certainly not," smiled Wickham. "Poor Mr. Bingley."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Darcy spent that evening with his legs stretched out on the window seat, looking gloomily out over the lake in the grounds. Bingley sat across the room, one eye on a book, the other on Darcy, carefully adhering to the silence. He could hear the quiet birdsong outside, the faint, distant stomping footsteps of Caroline in the opposite side of the house, and even Darcy's light breathing. He sighed, slammed his book, and stormed over to the window.

"Will, you _have _to stop sulking like this," he cried. Darcy ignored him, so he pressed on. "Is this all about George? For God's sake, he's not worth it, you said so yourself!"

Darcy remained still, his shoulder against the wall, facing the window. Bingley sighed again.

"You know I can't stand to see you upset like this," he said quietly.

At this, Darcy looked slowly back, meeting his eyes. He drew his legs in to make space on the window seat for Bingley, who settled down beside him.

"I'm sorry, Charles," Darcy said. "I didn't -"

"If you can't even talk to me about it," said Bingley with a small smile, "what use am I?" He slid a hand underneath Darcy's, who gratefully grasped it.

"Thank you. And I am sorry. I'm being selfish."

"If indeed you are, then at least speak to me. Tell me about this man whose mere appearance sends you into a spiraling depression." The two of them shuffled around to face each other, sitting cross legged, silhouetted against the window. Darcy leaned on his hand, reminiscing moodily.

"You were together as teenagers..." said Bingley, in an attempt to start him off.

"Not for long," said Darcy. "He was so elegant and charming, even at fifteen. I fell in love with him… or, I should say, I thought I was in love with him. I thought he loved me."

Darcy sniffed, looking into Bingley's concerned eyes.

"I was wrong, of course. I meant nothing to him, but I could have coped perfectly well with that. If it weren't for Georgiana."

"Georgiana?" Bingley was surprised. "What did she have to do with Wickham?"

"I went looking for him one day, and I caught him with her. Poor Georgiana told me everything; he had asked her to marry him. They were days away from running away together."

"My God, how could he do that to you?"

"At first, I couldn't stand that he'd chosen my own sister over me, but I was only thinking of myself. My father did not approve of us, of course, and Wickham must have feared that he would be cut out of his legacy. So he decided the surest path was to marry his daughter, and I discovered all of this soon afterwards." Darcy's expression was cool, but unmistakably angry.

"However much he wronged me, it doesn't matter," he continued. "But I drove him away from my family's land as best I could. I could not stand by and watch him seduce Georgiana for his own selfish ends."

"Of course not! A girl as young as her. He's despicable," Bingley said passionately.

In spite of himself, Darcy smiled.

"You're very sweet, you know," he said. Bingley laughed, shaking his head. Darcy reached forward to kiss him, winding his arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. "Thank you."

"As long as you don't let him get to you again," murmured Bingley.

"Don't worry about me. I have you."

"I worry more about the Bennet girls, I assure you. They were the ones talking to Wickham."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

As dinner came to a close Elizabeth deigned to return Mr. Wickham to the rest of the girls, but as the rest of the guest began to enjoy themselves and play cards, her head was still full of him.

"Elizabeth," said Jane excitedly, sidling up to her. "Well?"

"Well what?" said Elizabeth dreamily.

"What did he say? What was he _like_?" she cried.

Elizabeth looked over at him; he was smiling amiably at Lydia and Kitty, who were flirting shamelessly. _He's suffered so much_, she thought, _and yet he is still so…_

"He is wonderful," Elizabeth said simply.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Is it starting to read like a really bad abridged edition? Well, yes. But if it's doing anything for ya, let me know… _


	9. Confessions of a Georgian Drama Queen

_Thank you 4give4get! You shall have cake for somehow motivating me to write two whole chapters in the same month, which as everyone knows is absolute insanity. In today's outing I have tried to get my funny back to some extent, AND to advance the plot. Tricky. Have I? Haven't I? Drop me a review! _

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

To the Bennets' near universal delight, Mr. Wickham came to visit the next day. At first Elizabeth was strongly pessimistic regarding her chances of catching him alone, but she was pleasantly surprised to find that her mother was taking Kitty, Lydia and Mary shopping; Jane was bound to her room to steel herself for her next visit to Netherfield, and specifically, her mother's preparations for it. That left Mr. Bennet at home and potentially intruding.

She was trying to concoct some sort of scheme when she saw her father rather unexpectedly sweep out of the library and towards the front door.

"Father?" Elizabeth cried. "Are you going out?"

"Yes, Lizzy dear. Do you remember the young man at number 62?"

"I'm afraid not. Remind me."

"The one whose rather ominous post we keep getting."

"Oh, of course. Foreign chap."

"Well," said Mr. Bennet, gathering up a large stack of letters, "I have decided to bring it to him. Besides, I heard he had some sort of nervous breakdown recently, and got into a spot of trouble with the police, so it should be interesting to investigate. I may be gone some time."

"Exce- I mean, I'm sorry to hear that, father. I shall miss you." Elizabeth tried to shake a few strands of hair down over her reddening cheeks.

"Not to worry, Lizzy. I'll see you tonight. Goodbye!" With that, Mr. Bennet slung the package under his arm and strode off along the path, whistling merrily.

Elizabeth, beaming, slammed the door behind him and skipped to the drawing room. Clearing her throat and brushing her skirts, she tentatively knocked.

"Come in," came a familiar, relaxed, and (Elizabeth thought) devastatingly beautiful voice from inside.

"Mr. Wickham?" she said shyly as she slipped into the room, crossing her arms behind her back.

"Oh, Miss Elizabeth," he smiled cheerily, if slightly taken aback. He put down the book he was reading and sat up to greet her. "You're alone?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied hurriedly, settling into the chair beside him. "I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed last night's conversation. You truly are a fascinating man."

"Well, I…" Wickham's smile broadened. "Thank you. _You_ are truly a fascinating woman." He touched her hand, so lightly that it could barely be felt, but it made Elizabeth blush all the same.

"So tell me," she whispered, shifting closer to him, "did you ever really mean to marry Mr. Darcy's sister?"

"Of course not, Elizabeth," he murmured back. This time he rested his hand on hers, sending thrills down her spine. He moved closer too. "I prefer a much more refined breed of woman."

"More refined than a Darcy?" Elizabeth giggled.

"Oh, much more," he smiled. "Not many girls would fit the criteria, of course. A certain Bennet girl, perhaps…"

By now Elizabeth could feel his breath on her face, and her heart was beating furiously. His lips parted, and every fibre of her being quivered with joy as he leant towards her.

"There's something I have to tell you, Mr. Wickham…" she said.

"Oh yes?"

Their mouths were millimetres apart when Mrs. Bennet burst exuberantly through the drawing room door and they jerked apart.

"Hello Elizabeth darling, Mr. Wickham," she boomed happily, ushering Kitty and Lydia (well laden with bags) into the room. Elizabeth suppressed the great deal of very un-ladylike language that came to mind. Mr. Wickham seemed unperturbed, she noticed, as Lydia seized his hands and pulled him up to show him their purchases. She retreated from the room, muttering under her breath like a cowboy whose schemes had recently been foiled by a rabbit. She counted steadily to ten, tried to slow her breathing, coolly swore revenge on them all, and walked lightly upstairs to her room.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

That evening Lydia had plunged in at the last second and asked Mr. Wickham to sit by her. Elizabeth was trapped with Jane on the other side of the table, which did nothing to improve that day's mood of thorough resentment. Mr. Bennet turned up after they started, looking quite exhausted.

"Father? What's wrong?" asked Jane concernedly. "Did something happen next door?"

"No, it's nothing really," he sighed. "But never, _ever_ introduce me to anyone by my real name. Ever again." Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a look and he ploughed into his dinner without another word.

Although Jane and Elizabeth made a few attempts at small talk amongst themselves, but soon their subject turned to a familiar pair of men.

"We've been invited to another ball at Netherfield," said Jane happily.

"Heavens," smiled Elizabeth. "We shall have to get you and a certain gentleman reacquainted. And by a certain gentleman, I mean the illustrious owner of Netherfield. And by the owner, I mean Mr. Bingley. And by reacquainted, I mean…"

"Alright, stop. Please. But yes," said Jane.

"Mr. Bingley has been without you for _far_ too long. Jane, you realise you're going to have to really outdo everyone to win his heart. If he is as suggestible as Mr. Wickham suggests, any girl with half a brain can seduce him."

"Really?" said Jane nervously. "But I…"

"Oh, don't worry," Elizabeth laughed. "I'm joking! Bingley only has eyes for you." Jane smiled and Kitty, nearest to them, guffawed gently, and received a fierce prod from Elizabeth.

"Well, what do I do? I don't know how fond he is of me,"

"Just be yourself," Elizabeth said reassuringly. "I'll be there the whole time, you won't be alone, unless you want to be."

"Oh, but…will you be able to tolerate Caroline for the whole evening?"

"Don't worry," replied a steely Elizabeth. "I have _no_ interest in that horrible Mr. Darcy, she's welcome to him. I daresay that won't leave her any reason to find me disagreeable."

Meanwhile, as the sisters talked in high spirits at one end of the table, Mrs. Bennet found herself in a conversation with the interminable Mr. Collins. Its subject, as always, hovered between Mr. Darcy and Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

"I'm not _entirely_ sure what Lizzy sees in him, to be honest," said her somewhat tipsy mother, "apart from that stunning dark hair and his eyes, of course. You know, they're as deep as…as…"

"The most lustrous night sky?" Mr. Collins volunteered.

"Mm, exactly," she nodded vigorously. He sighed dreamily. "So anyway, he's ever so proud, I don't know how she can stand him. But apparently she does! I wouldn't be surprised if they got married, soon enough. Once they get over themselves."

Mr. Collins's jaw dropped, and Mrs. Bennet hiccupped quietly.

"Married? You're certain?"

"Oh, definitely. She loves him to pieces. Who wouldn't, with hair like that…"

But Mr. Collins had stopped listening. He looked over at Elizabeth, laughing along with Jane, and narrowed his eyes. By the end of the meal he had decided on what he supposed was the best course of action to keep Darcy single.

"Mrs. Bennet…" he asked quietly, "Might I request a private audience with your daughter in the next few days?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Elizabeth whiled away the meal until the end, at which time the majority of the family had gone to play at whist. As if reading her mind, Mr. Wickham had lingered behind the others and she cornered him before Kitty or Lydia could retrieve him. She scampered forth, seizing both his hands as subtly as she could. They spent a short, delicious moment gazing into each others eyes, smiling shyly.

"Mr. Wickham," she murmured.

"Yes, Elizabeth?" he said, his eyes impossibly bright, his smile soft and inviting.

"I want you to know that I…"

"MR. WICKHAM!" cried Kitty and Lydia simultaneously. "What _are_ you doing with Elizabeth?"

Every single head in the room spun towards Elizabeth and Wickham. She opened her mouth to try to explain, but thought better of it. She then realized that she was still somewhat pressed against Wickham and still holding his hands; having dropped them, and having sidestepped quickly away, she looked bashfully down.

"Good heavens! Mr. Wickham, I had no idea of quite how dishonorable your intentions were towards my poor Elizabeth!" Mrs. Bennet, still in a somewhat tipsy state, had difficulty pronouncing all of this, but her meaning came across in her tone of voice. "Mr. Bennet, do something!"

There was a moment of silence while everyone turned towards a rather bewildered Mr. Bennet. He looked from girl to girl questioningly.

"Do something about what?"

"About Lizzy! She was… canoodling with that Mr. Wickham!"

"So?" (For this, Mr. Bennet received a substantial cuff on the ear from his wife.)

"Perhaps I should leave," said Wickham quietly.

"No! It's alright, you…"

"No, Elizabeth, I think it's best that I go," he sighed stoically. He sighed (thoroughly attractively, Elizabeth thought) and bade them all goodbye before walking out into the night. She watched him go, and then, at an excruciatingly slow pace, turned her head and blazing eyes towards her sisters.

"Damn you, Lydia," she said, her voice low, but on the brink of exploding with anger.

"Lizzy, I'm your sister, and I love you. I don't want any tall, dark strangers taking advantage of you," Lydia retorted. "Besides, Kitty is just as much to blame as myself."

"What?!"

"Hush, Kitty. Lizzy is grieving."

Elizabeth scowled and stormed off to her room like an angst-ridden Shakespearian anti-hero.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The following morning, Elizabeth remained in her room, in the same stormy mood. Her mother, very aware of this and a tad hung over, approached the bedroom with the greatest of care.

"Elizabeth," hissed Mrs. Bennet from the doorway of her bedroom, "come here! Hurry!"

"What is it, mother?" she groaned. She was draped exasperatedly over her bed, with Jane by her side quite ineffectually trying to comfort her.

"You're wanted," her mother replied, barely able to contain her excitement, "by a certain gentleman downstairs!"

Elizabeth jolted upright, Jane looked awed, and Mrs. Bennet nearly collapse in a fit of giggles.

"Really? Well, did he say why?" cried Elizabeth.

"No, no…" a grin crept across Mrs. Bennet's face. "But I'd get my hopes up if I were you, my dear, if you know what I mean!"

In a wild flurry of activity Elizabeth tried to fix her hair and clothes simultaneously, all the while asking frantically whether her face looked pristine. She flew downstairs and knocked lightly on the drawing room door, silently going over her what she would say in her head. She could keenly feel her heartbeat, rapid and excited.

Upon her entry, however, it instantly slowed to a dull thud when she saw that it was Mr. Collins who was inside.

"Mr. Collins," she said gloomily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, grimacing slightly, "I would like you to know that as almost as soon as I entered your household, I singled you out as the companion of my future life."

"What?" Elizabeth froze. "What are you saying?"

"Miss Elizabeth, I would like you to marry me. However, I think it is quite advisable for me to explain my reasons for marrying, and indeed for going to Hertfordshire with the design of finding a wife. First of all…"

Elizabeth sank backwards, his voice blurring into silence, as she wondered whether it was the proposal itself or simply having to listen to the proposal that depressed her the most. She tried desperately to close her eyes and think of Mr. Wickham, but deep down she knew she was in for the long haul.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Damn, I _do _miss Will 'n' Charlie. They are terribly fun to write. Not to worry! I shall focus on them next time! And might I remind you to R&R? Ta!_


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